


The Inevitability of Time

by Saucery



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Crossover, Dark Magic, Drama, Espionage, Flirting, Love, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Mystery, Opposites Attract, Romance, Secrets, Seduction, Slow Build, Snark, Spells & Enchantments, Spies & Secret Agents, Supernatural Elements, Teacher-Student Relationship, Technology, Tortured Past, Undercover, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:44:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond is an Unspeakable, currently undercover at Hogwarts as a DADA professor. Q is a Slytherin, currently making himself at home under Bond's skin.</p><p>Oh, and there's a Dark Lord. That's generally bad news. For everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since this story is pretty much a collection of sequential ficlets, each 'chapter' may vary in size from a few hundred to a few thousand words. There are no rules.

* * *

 

It's strange, to be back here. To return to where it all started - where he'd been recruited, first by M and then by the Ministry and finally by the Department of Mysteries. He's been an Unspeakable for so long that to have his name (such as it is) spoken by those above-ground is a matter of some bemusement.

"Professor Bond," announces the headmistress, in her clear-cut voice, "is here to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. His qualifications are many and his experiences extraordinary, and I'm sure that his time on the front lines in Norway, in the company of the best wizards and witches of Durmstrang, will inform his lessons and benefit his students." 

James has never, technically, been stationed at Durmstrang, but killing the Death Eaters seeking to attack it has assured him the collective Life Debts of the headmaster and most of the senior staff. They have, in turn, been happy to provide James with an airtight cover story, should anyone care to probe into 'Professor' Bond's time at the Norwegian school. 

"Perhaps," continues Headmistress Messervy, also known as M by the Department of Mysteries and possibly the most undercover Unspeakable in the history of the Department, "Professor Bond would like to say a few words."

Professor Bond would rather retire to his quarters and enjoy a quart of firewhiskey while stoically bemoaning his latest assignment. Teaching _children_ , for god's sake. He's spent the last few years breaking necks and snapping wands, and they think he's a tame enough tiger to let out of its cage? Among the cubs, no less?

Instead, in the ensuing expectant silence in which hundreds of bright young eyes stare up at the staff table, James finds himself standing up.

"I look forward to teaching you," he lies, and sits back down.

M raises her eyebrows at him.

What? She asked for a few words. He gave her a few words. Six words, to be precise.

M sighs. "Our newest professor is somewhat… reticent, as you can see, but I trust he will be far more communicative in his classes." A hint of ice sharpens her smile, like frost on a window-sill, and James winces.

Visibly. He has to remind himself to wince visibly, now. This isn't his typical covert operation; he's meant to appear in front of other human beings with his entire complement of human emotions (supposedly) intact, not slink expressionlessly along rooftops, dismantling wards and casting killing hexes past protective sigils strengthened by the darkest of the dark blood-magics. Nor is he meant to affix to his face the reasonable facsimile for an emotional response that is his Charming Smile #3, for the sole purpose of seducing a certain witch or wizard into giving him the intel he needs.

Glancing up from his glass, behind which he hides like a shy, 'reticent' professor, he takes note of the students relaxing at this touch of vulnerability in their otherwise fierce-seeming, broad-shouldered DADA teacher. He can almost read their thoughts, and he doesn't even need Legilimency to do it: _If he's terrified of the headmistress, too, he can't be_ that _bad_.

Can't he be that bad?

He swirls his glass in his hand, peering into its blood-red depths, and ponders the answer.

He absolutely can.

 

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

The sixth-year Hufflepuffs file into James's classroom, yawning and rumpled, because it's the first class of the day and none of them are entirely awake. No matter - it will be easier to force them into submitting to the Imperius this way, when they're all wooly-headed and sleep-softened.

The Slytherins are more alert, and have a uniformly calculating glint in their eyes. There is one boy in particular with dark, tousled hair and black-rimmed glasses that seems very calm and very aware, his pale hands folded neatly in front of him.

A clever one, then. James always dislikes the clever ones, because they make him put actual work into his cover identity; he'd much rather teach the more innocent younger years, or the more gullible Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Ravenclaws are generally too absorbed in acquiring knowledge to pay much attention to the one imparting it; the Slytherins, however, are a canny bunch that James cannot let his guard down around.

This is a joint Slytherin-and-Hufflepuff class, for all the good it'll do James. The only advantage of it is that some of the Slytherins are likely involved as low-level recruits in the British Death Eater movement, and that gauging their resistance to the Imperius will be an excellent way of deducing which ones are involved in Silva's mad, Muggle-hating campaign.

The Imperius Curse is an interesting hex, because minds previously exposed to it tend to scar, a little, healing around the gaping time-lapse during which they had been forced into obedience. Most minds also gain a greater resistance to the Imperius with every subsequent casting, the way the body gains resistance to a pathogen upon repeated exposure to it. By observing which of the Slytherins do not succumb to him easily enough, James will have a ready list of suspects. It is no secret that Silva regularly casts 'Imperio' on his followers.

This assignment is, after all, to find out what Silva's recruiting strategy is, and to put a stop to it before he gains enough followers to pose a real threat to the Ministry.

Being the DADA instructor at Hogwarts, Silva's favored recruiting ground, is a definite advantage.

"Class," he says, once the students are all seated, "your previous teacher, Professer Hargrave, impressed upon me your stellar performance during the mid-term tests. Apparently, you are all well-versed in the magical theory of the Imperius Curse, as well as its psychological consequences. Today, we will venture into the more practical side of things."

The Hufflepuffs gasp. The Slytherins regard him with narrow eyes.

"Yes, that means casting the Imperius. I will cast it on each one of you and will teach you how to resist it. This should, hopefully, prevent anybody misusing you or your magic for their own ends."

A plump Hufflepuff girl raises her hand.

"Yes, Miss...?"

"Bartleby, sir. Rose Bartleby."

"Miss Bartleby. What was your question?"

"Isn't - I mean, isn't the Imperius a Dark curse? Do the rules allow us to cast it?"

" _You_ won't be casting it, Miss Bartleby, never fear. It requires a deft touch; a child could no more cast it effectively than could a... well, something else lacking in subtlety. Perhaps an Oliphaunt."

The class titters; Bartleby flushes. James spares a moment's guilt for humiliating her, but he isn't here to make himself a likable professor. 'Professor Bond' is the unsociable type, who would rather not answer any questions, at all. That persona will help him keep his cover, by avoiding the sorts of friendships with students that'll have them knocking at his door in the middle of the night, sobbing for romantic advice or academic help. He isn't _helpful_. Far from it.

"I've gained special permission from the Ministry to cast the Imperius within the bounds of this classroom, and no further. I have also permitted them to track my wand, to ensure that I do not misuse the curse. Does that allay your worries?"

"Oh," a panicked Bartleby rushes to assure him, "I hadn't meant to doubt _you_ , sir, it's just that - "

" - that you've never before learned any useful defenses against Dark Magic, having only read about the theoretical side of things. Well, that's about to change. I have come fresh from the battles of Norway, child, and I can tell you that plain old theory will not help you survive when the Death Eaters attack your home."

Bartleby goes white. And sits down.

The rest of the class looks suitably horrified, too, except for a few of the Slytherins, for whom visitations from Death Eaters are likely an everyday occurrence, in the form of their own fathers and mothers.

"Let us continue. I shall call each student's name in alphabetical order - you will come forth and be put under the Imperius. You will be graded on your ability to resist the curse, both in terms of duration and depth. Remember the strategies for resisting it that you have previously studied, albeit only theoretically. Now is the time to apply what you have learned."

Everyone - except for the student in the black-rimmed glasses - looks nervous.

James calls out the first name. "Tabitha Arnolds."

And so it begins.

It goes more-or-less as James expects it to - most of the students succumb within a fraction of a second, with two Slytherins (Bjorn Siddig and Alyson Marsh) lasting a suspicious few minutes. James makes a mental note of their names, and sends them back to their seats.

The third-last name on the list is peculiar: "Q. Quirin."

The boy with the glasses stands up. "Yes, sir." His voice is low, soft, certain.

"Why is your name initialed?"

"Because my full name is unpronounceable, sir. It's in Gobbledegook." At the giggles of his classmates, he quirks a dry smile and says, "Quite literally."

James raises his eyebrows. "The language of goblins. Why?"

"My father owed a goblin a Life Debt, sir. I'm named after the goblin he owed it to."

Now that's a story that inspires a spark of curiosity - but James isn't here to be curious about his students, not unless they're junior Death Eaters in the making. "Come up to the front."

"Yes, sir." There is a peculiar grace to the boy - none of that adolescent clumsiness - but there's also a hiddenness to him that puts James on alert, because that noiselessness is something James has come to expect from fellow spies.

When Q is standing before him, hands clasped loosely behind his back, James casts the Imperius.

It slides right off.

James casts it again.

And again, it slides off, as though Q's mind isn't simply resistant, but impregnable.

James feels a frisson of excitement. This boy is one of Silva's younglings, then. He practically has to be, if he's that resistant to the Imperius. James's attempts at Legilimency are similarly rebuffed, the surface of Q's consciousness smooth and strangely metallic, as if a shield has been deliberately and blatantly constructed, a shield that - beneath its cover - somehow hints at a mind ticking away quietly, like a neat clock comprised of thousands of glittering, interlocking parts. Even that insight seems like it's one that's been _allowed_ him, rather than one he has sought out, himself.

Dizzied, James withdraws - only to see Q watching him, a smirk hovering about his lips.

It's suddenly, abruptly infuriating - so James snaps at Q to return to his seat.

But Q doesn't budge. "How did I do, Mr. Bond?" he asks, still in that low, polite voice. 

"It's Professor Bond," James corrects, automatically.

"I'm sorry." Q widens his eyes. "I don't know how I forgot."

This is -

Q can't be implying that he _knows_ -

James's own mind is carefully guarded -

"I said, go back to your seat," James says, finally. "I'll discuss your grade with you after class."

When Q returns to his seat, the Slytherin girl sitting next to Q pats his shoulder. For all that she is sympathetic-sounding, her mouth is cruelly hooked. "That bad, Q?"

Q shrugs. "As long as he doesn't take points from Slytherin."

"He'd better not."

"Excuse me?" James asks, mildly. "What had I _better_ not do?"

The girl - her name was Clarissa Matthews, if he recalls - shuts up.

"Five points from Slytherin," James says, with the same mildness. "For inexplicitly threatening a teacher."

Clarissa glares. Q looks meditative. The other Slytherins groan.

Gritting his teeth, James returns to his list, but the presence of Q in the classroom niggles at him, like a thorn he has yet to remove from his side.

 

* * *

 


End file.
